Dementia
by Thorn Dew'Pearled
Summary: {Chapters 7 up NOW} The allurance of power, and the corruption of the greatest will, shall tear the Nine apart. As Fate deals a cruel card, can he be saved before the worst occurs? Time grows short ...
1. Growing Insanity

Author's note: See what the adolescent mind can brew when boredom sets in? As I am currently going for something akin to a Gothic phase, I am all dark and grim in mind and this comes out in my literary works, as you can see.  
  
Please be forewarned that this will contain minor slash, angst, and I have even gone so far as to include character death! Also, beware of sharp twists and cliff hangers, I have a thing for those too  
  
( Cheers!  
  
Thorn Dew'Pearled  
  
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'Let me loose! Kill you! Kill you all!'  
  
Legolas looked despairingly at the wildly struggling Aragorn, bound to the smooth grey bole of the strong young silky oak and screaming his obvious hatred at his companions. Gandalf seemed almost ready to silence him with his staff; and all were giving the inexplicably mad Ranger a wide berth. There seemed nothing to be done, aside from leaving him secured to the nearest sturdy object with tightly tied ropes.  
  
Aragorn ceased his shrieking and writhing; sitting in silence and still for the moment as that which corrupted him ended its torment. 'Why is he so mad?' Pippin asked in a frightened whisper, shying away from Aragorn's silver-grey and malign glare. 'He was bitten by something, he was saying yesterday morn,' Merry answered in a hushed tone. 'Remember that thing what we heard was making a pain of itself up near Bree? I think it's gotten into him.'  
  
'Why did you not speak of this before, that he was bitten?' said Legolas , turning to him. 'I was never asked,' said Merry carelessly and shrugged. 'I had forgotten until now.' It was only then that Legolas recalled that Aragorn had also told him. With a burning rush of foolishness he turned shamedly away.  
  
'Gandalf, is there nothing you can do?' cried Boromir to the wizard, who stood outside the circle of firelight, the brim of his wide hat overshadowing his face.  
  
'I have tried,' came the weary answer. 'Sun and moon and star know I have tried; yet all to no avail. I had thought he be made of sterner stuff, but it seems the maddening poison of the wound inflicted upon him by this - thing - seems to have taken him over completely. But is it poison? Has he truly been bitten, or is something else foul happening within him? Alas! I cannot tell.'  
  
'Well his mind has gone amiss, that's for sure,' commented Sam darkly from his place beside Frodo, watching Aragorn with lowered brows as if afraid the Ranger may tear his bonds and leap for the throat of the Ringbearer. 'As my gaffer used to say, "Madness digs at the mind as frost does the crops," he said.  
  
'And may your gaffer be blessed in his old age,' said Gandalf; 'but we have much more pressing matters to deal with. There seems little we can do, but it is naught short of cruelty to merely tie him and leave him.'  
  
'We can barely approach the man,' said Gimli gruffly, testily tapping the flat of his axe on a hand. 'He's fallen further than a stone into a well.'  
  
'We can still try,' said Legolas in determination, his keen eyes alight with the heaven's pale glow. 'Though I say for now we rest. I fear it will be folly to loose him; perhaps we should leave him until morning and then see what we may do.'  
  
Half shrouded in shadow, Aragorn glowered at them, clenching and unclenching the fingers he longed to ease around their throats.  
  
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'Aah!' Aragorn gave a small cry of pain, drawing breath through gritted teeth. 'Aragorn?' Frodo had wandered over to his side, and looked up at him worriedly. 'Fear not, Frodo,' Aragorn said with a careless laugh, one hand rubbing at his neck. 'Merely a mosquito or something of the like. Bit me, nothing serious.' _________________________________  
  
Merry was to be on first watch that night. Fending off the irrepressable shades of slumber, he sat close to the fire wrapped warmly in his cloak and the blanket Legolas had given him to ward off the wintery cold, for Legolas said he had no need of coverings at night, although he so often seemed to shiver as if chilled.  
  
'Merry.' A low voice called to him, soft and warm. 'Merry.'  
  
Merry turned his head sideways a fraction and then pulled it back, ignoring the gentle call of Aragorn who sat with his arms slung over his knees and his back to the tree, the rope bonds still holding him there. 'Merry, will you not heed me? Why do you ignore me?'  
  
'I-I am not ignoring you Aragorn,' Merry replied with feigned cheeriness, in an attempt to lift his own spirits for Aragorn's voice sent an unpleasant chill running up his spine.  
  
'Then come and sit beside me, and we shall talk.'  
  
'B-Boromir said I was to stay here,' Merry answered with a trembling firmness, venturing to look at the deceptively serene man with through the corner of his eye. 'H-he told me to sit here and watch.'  
  
'Why do you listen to Boromir? He would harm you if he could, Merry; he is a spiteful coward. Be not his friend, he is evil.'  
  
'H-he is not evil - you are!' cried Merry in raged defense, and tears were in his eyes. The others stirred, but only shifted before they fell deeper into their sleep; as he so longed to do and escape the taunting words of the demented Ranger.  
  
'Evil?' Aragorn looked taken aback, but then the smug smirk had crept back across his face to complete his disquieting expression. 'Come and sit beside me. I wish to talk to you.'  
  
'N-no, Boromir told me to stay here.'  
  
'Boromir said nothing; he hates you.'  
  
'He does not.'  
  
'Oh, but he does Merry. He told me himself, told me how he longed to set dagger to your throat to be rid of your annoying stupidity.'  
  
'H-he did not. He is a good friend, he would never say anything like that about anyone.'  
  
Aragorn fell quiet for a spell, but his glinting eyes seemed to smile at the young hobbit with an unfriendly icyness. 'He hates you Merry,' he murmured, mouth curved in a cruel smile. 'Hates you with all the hatred in his stone heart.'  
  
'Be quiet,' Merry whispered. 'I won't listen; I'm not listening.'  
  
'You cannot ignore me.'  
  
'Keep your words to yourself; I don't wish to hear them,' said Merry, bravery slowly breathing life into his leaden limbs and heavy heart.  
  
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'Aragorn, you seem a little - strange this eve, my friend,' Legolas said to him as they sat together in the quiet shades of the fading evening. Aragorn scratched idly at the back of his neck. 'Is something the matter?'  
  
'Nay, my friend, there is nothing,' Aragorn assured him, though the burning itch of his infliction was driving him insane, and he was becoming strangely light-headed. 'I was bitten by something earlier, and it is making itself known - and a real pain I might add.'  
  
Legolas laughed lightly and clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'Alas that the smallest creature causes the biggest of problems,' he said. _________________________________  
  
The next hour was miserable for Merry, having to endure the watchful eye of Aragorn, who was now silent but stared at him with an intensity of no name. On occasion dreadful words would fall from those tight lips, whispered with a thinly vieled malevolence. By the time Merry's weary watch was taken up by Boromir, he was weeping openly.  
  
Boromir saw him leave with bemusement; the young hobbit retired teary- eyed and sobbing to his bed. At once his eyes fell on Aragorn, whose unrelenting smugness was daringly twanging at his nerves. 'What did you say?' he hissed, and advanced menacingly on the smiling Ranger.  
  
Aragorn eyed him coolly and shrugged. 'I said naught but truth,' he said softly. 'I am a man of sworn oath: I never lie.'  
  
Boromir's sharp glare did nothing to dissuade Aragorn's irritating attitude - if anything he seemed pleased and grinned disarmingly. 'Sit and talk with me a while, I grow lonesome on my tether,' said he, and patted the grass-patched ground beside him.  
  
'I think I should take up my post,' said Boromir with a stiff coldness; and he took Merry's place beside the fire, often casting furtive glances in Aragorn's direction. The Ranger sometimes struggled with his bonds, and bit at the chaffing ropes on his wrists; other times he would hum to himself or tap his heavy boots on the dusty earth. Boromir paid him little heed, until Aragorn decided he had had enough of boredom and needed a little amusement; namely stirring trouble.  
  
'Legolas said to me once,' he said, looking into the distance without expression, 'that he thought Gondor was naught but a waste of valuable land. He despises Gondor and all its inhabitants.'  
  
'Then what has he to say of a certain exiled king?' Boromir replied curtly, disbelieving.  
  
'Oh, many things,' said Aragorn with a raised brow. Boromir regarded him with a look of pure disgust; only encouraged, Aragorn continued.  
  
'And what has he to say of a certain steward's son?' he said, almost as if to himself, and his expression become pensive. 'Many things again, but none pleasant.'  
  
Boromir seemed to be ignoring him, but he pressed onwards. 'He told me he would keep a few arrows spare just for the sake of ridding Middle-Earth of you,' he said, and chuckled darkly. 'He despises you Boromir; hates you with a hatred beyond the wildest imaginings of Men. And your father - Legolas tells me he is undeserving of his position, should be cleaning stables rather than running a country with such a withered and incapable hand.'  
  
At that Boromir rose, and his fist came down hard on Aragorn's cheek. The Rangers head was flung sideways, a stream of blood streaming from his partially open lips, and a livid bruise rising steadily on his face. 'Do not dare to speak of my father that way; he is a noble and righteous man,' Boromir snarled, grasping Aragorn by the collar. 'Keep your deceitful tongue behind your teeth, you filth.' At that he flung Aragorn back against the tree and resumed his watch; but inevitably tears sprang forth, and in the shadows Aragorn was satisfied over the induced misery and licked the blood from his mouth, wearing his sardonic smile once again.  
  
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'You are burning a slight fever,' Pippin commented, one hand at Aragorn's brow and his own furrowed. 'Have you eaten something bad of late?'  
  
'Not that I recall,' said Aragorn in confusion, and gave a small cry, dropping his head into his hand as sudden violent convulsions wracked his body.  
  
'Aragorn?' cried Pippin worriedly, tapping his shoulder. With a rough shove the Ranger pushed the young hobbit away. 'Leave me alone you incessant little pest,' he growled. Pippin stared at him, disbelieving. 'B-but Aragorn, it's me,' he said, reaching out imploringly, only to have his hands slapped roughly away.  
  
'I said LEAVE ME ALONE!' _________________________________  
  
Legolas was the first to wake to morning's pale light, and on his waking he knew at once something was amiss; it was a nagging feeling that prodded constantly at his sensitive mind. Aragorn was still in his place, tied to the silky oak and with head bowed in fitful sleep. Often he twitched, and faint murmurings were just audible on the edge of the Elf's keen hearing. Curious and concerned, he wandered over and crouched beside the resting figure of the Ranger.  
  
'N-no ... go away,' Aragorn muttered, and shook his head. 'Leave ... no, hate - kill and die ... hurt ... never ... no ... blade, yes, no, leave ... kill ... still ... silence ... no ... NO!'  
  
He jerked awake with his shout, and found himself looking at once into the crystaline eyes of Legolas, devoid of both emotion and expression. 'Help me,' he whispered, and clutched desperately at the loose rusty-green sleeve of the Elf's right arm. Legolas drew in a shuddering breath and reached for Aragorn's bruised cheek, caressing the hurt with a light touch. 'Who did this to you?' he whispered.  
  
'Help me,' Aragorn repeated, though his voice had receded to a dismayed whisper, and his head fell onto his chest. Suddenly it snapped back, and Legolas saw at once the change that had occured in him. He looked now into the eyes of a cold and merciless creature: he had found that which plagued and slowly killed his friend.  
  
'Legolas?' murmured a sleepy voice, and Pippin eased himself upright, yawning and rubbing sleep dusted eyes. Legolas turned to assure him, but found himself instead on the ground with a painful stinging in his cheek. Aragorn, bound hands poised, sneered at him. 'Get away from me,' he hissed. 'I'll not have dealings with one of your folk.'  
  
Pippin sprang to his feet and ran to help Legolas up. 'You had no right to do that!' he shouted angrily at Aragorn, while asking Legolas if he was all right. 'I am fine,' said Legolas idly, brushing the worried hobbit away. 'Leave him be, he is not in his right mind.'  
  
'That's right, turn tail and run!' Aragorn cried after their retreating backs, and laughed maniacally, resting his head between his raised knees.  
  
Pippin stared incredulously at him and tugged on Legolas' hand. 'Why is he like this?' he asked softly. Legolas glanced down at him and then resolutely straightened his back. 'Merry was right,' he said. 'There is something that has possessed him, this is not the true Aragorn; this is a demon who has dominated his will and speaks with his tongue.'  
  
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'Gandalf! Gandalf, something's terribly wrong with Strider!' The wizard was roused by the shrill cries of Sam, who came rushing towards him in a fearful excitement of terror. 'Hmm? Aragorn you say?' he asked, lifting the brim of his hat the better to look at the hobbit.  
  
'Yes!' exclaimed Sam breathlessly. 'He's gone all funny in the head; mad- like if you follow me. He tried to stab Boromir with one of Legolas' daggers, and he kept shouting at us he did; carrying on about how much he hates us and wishes we would die he was. Boromir and Legolas've got him on the ground now, we need you urgently.'  
  
Gandalf snatched up his staff and hastened after the hobbit. _________________________________ 


	2. Cold Cruelty

A/N: Thank you to those kind people who reviewed the first chapter. For those who may have little patience with storylines that take a while to develop, the action will not start until they reach Moria, and from there the tale develops. The first few chapters are more introductory, but I shall try not to delay.  
  
Cheers!  
  
Thorn Dew'Pearled  
  
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'Take your hands off me you wretches!'  
  
'Boromir! Quickly!'  
  
For the third time that morning, Boromir was forced to wrestle Aragorn to the ground and hold his head to the dust until the fit of madness passed. When finally it subsided and Aragorn was sober again they hauled him to his feet and marched onwards. Bound as he was, movement was greatly limited: his wrists were still tied, but behind his back; with another rope he was attached to Boromir, who was the strongest amongst them and the only man capable of subduing Aragorn should he attempt to strike out at his guardians.  
  
Legolas walked beside them, at times venturing to place a hand on Aragorn's shoulder - although the Ranger often cursed at him there was nothing he could do and Legolas was adamant that Aragorn's current state would pass.  
  
The great mountains now rose closer, and the grassy lands dwindled away into the near distance to come to a rest at the steep and stony feet of Eregion. Their path was as yet undecided, and all planning had fallen to Gandalf now that Aragorn was severely indisposed. He knew that Aragorn had wished to take the mountain pass, and so reach the Dimrill Dale by way of the Redhorn Gate; but he wished to chance the dark and ancient passages delved deep below the mountains - the dreaded Mines of Moria. Should he trust to Aragorn's judgement or his own?  
  
'Don't touch me Elf!'  
  
Aragorn's mad cries broke into his thoughts. The Ranger was trying to shake Legolas' hand from his shoulder, but his restraints made this impossible and so he walked heavily along seething with rage. Boromir kept him in careful check; often the Ringbearer fell into the Ranger's sights, and a hunger was visible in his eyes. Sam protectively slipped an arm about Frodo's shoulders and coaxed him away from Aragorn's sights.  
  
Legolas reluctantly removed his hand when reprimanded by a bad-tempered Gimli, who was fast losing patience with Aragorn's loss of sanity and feared he would shortly be losing his own. 'Leave the man be,' he said, turning on Legolas. 'You are not doing anything more aside from increasing his anger, and our chances of being spied by enemies who can surely hear him cursing from many miles away.'  
  
'Please don't argue,' Sam begged them, worried over Frodo, who had not uttered a sound all morning and journeyed with bent back and bowed head, staring blankly at the passing track. 'It's not right, all this fighting among friends; whether they want to be or no. We were given this task by Lord Elrond, the least we can do is try to get along.'  
  
'Wise words, Master Gamgee,' said Gandalf from the lead. 'Do as he says, Legolas; leave Aragorn be. There is naught you can do. I know this causes you much pain to know, and you dearly wish it was otherwise; but I am afraid it is not, so let him alone for the time being.'  
  
Miserably, Legolas left Aragorn's side, who smiled at the Elf's obedient lack of presence, well pleased. 'Don't lag,' Boromir muttered, tugging roughly on their tether. Aragorn stumbled forward and glared daggers at him: if looks could have killed, Boromir would have been felled on the spot.  
  
Pippin had been following worriedly in Merry's wake, bewildered by his silence and lack of cheer. Numerous times he had tried to lift Merry's spirits, but had succeeded in drawing out nothing more than a 'Go away Pippin.' He had reverted to trailing hopelessly in Merry's wake, feeling small and useless; just another insignificant speck of dust on a large window pane. And Aragorn was not helping, constantly calling out threats and taunts to all.  
  
'Watch a bird doesn't come and nest in your beard,' he sneered at Gimli, who blatantly ignored him and Aragorn soon grew tired of the pointless game, for he could not flare the dwarf's usually short temper. At times he would cry out and start muttering, trembling and shaking his head as if suffering some great internal struggle.  
  
'Hate ... hate, no ... friends ... hurt - never ... NEVER!' he cried unexpectedly aloud, and tried to run but stumbled and fell to the ground. Boromir was dragged down with him, and Aragorn suddenly set upon him with teeth bared in a snarl, reaching for his neck. Legolas hurried to them, and pulled Aragorn away; who kicked and screamed for all he was worth, shrieking curses deafeningly at the Elf. And then he was still, hanging limply in Legolas' arms like a rag-doll in those of a child. A wintery wind was blowing, tangling in the uncovered hair of the nine, who watched in silence as Aragorn become meek and obedient again, as if he understood why they had to do this to him, and saw it not as a betrayel.  
  
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Lashed once again to a tree, now the withered grey bole of a dead beech, Aragorn was quiet, but his eyes spoke much as they watched his companions with a malice and compassion as deep as the ocean. The noon-day sun burned the skin with a fierce ferocity, but the air was cold and wove among them with fingers of ice. He was alone once again: none were willing to risk approaching him lest he or they should come to any grievous harm.  
  
Only Legolas, whom he had shared a strong bond with since childhood, was game to try; and try he did. Aragorn watched him from beneath a lowered brow as the Elf approached with a friendly caution and a wavering smile on his pale face.  
  
'I was wondering if you were hungry, mellonamin,' he said, with voice hope-tinged. The left eye of the Ranger was twitching strangely, and the fear of Legolas grew with every moment of silence that passed. Gandalf had advised him to let Aragorn alone, but the truth was too hard for him to accept.  
  
'Nay,' said Aragorn at length. Legolas almost started with sudden joy: this was Aragorn as he had known him; the man who was almost a brother to him. Sitting back on his haunches, he offered the Man a crust of the bread they had brought from Rivendell, and a water skin should he wish to assuage thirst. 'Come,' he said gently. 'You have not eaten for two days, nor taken any refreshment.  
  
'I want nothing, I would rather starve than suffer this cursed being,' Aragorn murmured sullenly, and his head dropped sideways, his eyes unable to look into those of Legolas. 'Tell me,' Legolas implored him, setting the bread and water aside; attentive. 'He who now resides in my body,' Aragorn wept, his tears staining the dry ground, which drank them in greedily. 'I know not how he came to be within me, but I wish him only to leave ... BE QUIET!'  
  
He lashed out, startling Legolas, who fell backwards with a painful thud. Scrambling back, he stared at the Ranger, who now glared at him, and then stared in horror. 'Stay away from me,' mumbled Aragorn, shamed; but then his will was overcome by the other and he became as he had been the past two days. 'Leave me alone!' he shouted, and tried to kick Legolas away.  
  
The Elf rose quickly and left him, knowing Gandalf would not be pleased with him. Leering, Aragorn chewed ravanously at the bread and drank the water-skin dry, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 'You would starve me, would you?' he hissed to himself, casting the skin aside with a satisfied grunt. 'You make me laugh, you pitiful idiot! Almost I regret taking you as a host - but you will have purpose yet. Now stay silent and cease this squirming! You are a giving me a headache.'  
  
______________________________  
  
'The peak of Caradhras,' sighed Gandalf, standing on the grassy crest of a small slope and looking to the hulking, cloud-crowned mountain. They had been travelling many hours, and the sun was close to setting. 'It was that path Aragorn wished to take - I do not know what I should do. I say we take a vote; we must establish equality in this company, the purpose of which some appear to have overlooked.' Although no names were mentioned, his gaze fell on those he had silently convicted of this. 'Have your say, each of you.'  
  
Aragorn, muttering incoherently once again, was supported between Boromir and Legolas, for his own feet seemed no longer capable of serving him rightly, and when left alone he crumpled weakly to the ground.  
  
'It is draining his strength,' Boromir said softly, glancing down at the demented Ranger leaning heavily on his shoulder.  
  
'Whatever it is,' Legolas agreed in upset.  
  
'Hi! What say you three ... two?' came the raised voice of Pippin, and they turned their attention to the sane members of their Company. Seeing they had not any idea what he was aksing them about, Pippin repeated what Gandalf had said.  
  
'Would you take Aragorn's choice or Gandalf's?'  
  
Legolas and Boromir exchanged glances. 'I would take the path of Aragorn,' Legolas answered after a moment's pause. 'He is skilled in the wild, and would not lead us astray. In him I place my loyalty and trust.'  
  
'I too,' said Boromir, though still uncertain. 'Little have I known him, but from how he had led us prior to this misfortune I know him to be well- learned.'  
  
'I would follow Aragorn,' came Frodo's quiet voice, and he turned his glistening eyes to the wizard. 'As you once said "When you are in the company of a Ranger you had best listen to him, especially if that Ranger is Aragorn."'  
  
'And I will follow Frodo,' said Sam stoutly, resting a comforting hand on his master's tense shoulder. 'Us too!' chorused Merry and Pippin, then looked at each other and chuckled.  
  
'Then it is decided,' Gandalf proclaimed, and tipped his staff towards the mountain. 'We chance the Redhorn Gate.'  
  
'What other choice do we have?' muttered Boromir when none but Legolas and a now delirious Aragorn could hear.  
  
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The sky was alight with the brilliant fires of late evening as upwards they struggled, picking a precarious path among the sparse, tripping weeds and treacherous stones that dominated the foot of Caradhras. Further above them hung the swirling gloom, boding evil should they continue. None cared to pay any heed to this early warning, weariness was gnawing at leaden limbs and eyes were beginning to droop.  
  
A single star shone on the burning horizon as the shades of night marched forth across the sky, the sole occupant of the heavens awaiting its companions. It was Frodo who first descried the lone, sparkling dot above the shimmering carpet of the grasslands below them. Secretly he made a quick wish; although he had never been one for superstition it comforted him somewhat, feeling that he had been heard by an unseen deity that may answer his silent cry.  
  
The humid atmosphere seemed to be closing in on them, trapping them within its suffocating folds; and then suddenly it released, letting in a rush of icy air and allowing them to breathe again. It burned in their chests as they drew it in eagerly, glad of the welcome freedom; but the cold bit with frozen teeth and brought no comfort.  
  
'Hi!' cried Pippin in surprise, his eyes on the upturned palm of his left hand. 'It's snowing! Gandalf, it's snowing!'  
  
'I have noticed Master Took, rest assured,' Gandalf answered, looking with furrowed brow to the grey cloud-laden sky, which now let fall small shining drops of white to land on skin and clothes. 'I am afraid Caradhras has no benevolence to bestow on us this night, he does not welcome strangers.'  
  
Snow being somewhat of a rarity in the Shire, even during winter, the hobbits were openly delighted by this cold beauty that rained down upon them. Aragorn's escorts remained silent; Boromir knowing all too well that snow was as deadly as it was fair, and Legolas, having never seen snow in his long life, having dwelt only within the confines of his forest home, was in quiet admiration of this new natural wonder, although he harbored an ill-feeling about it too.  
  
'I fear a storm may come of this,' muttered Boromir darkly. Legolas nodded, and looked down at Aragorn, who was fighting to remain conscious and every now and again undiscernable words fell from his lips. 'Just be wary of your feet,' he answered softly. 'I would not chance a fall from this height.' Boromir frowned. 'Was Aragorn's sanity truly intact when he plotted this route for us?' he said dryly.  
  
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A cruel wind was blasting down on them, stinging their faces and driving them backwards with vicious blows. 'We will never reach the Redhorn Gate in this manner!' Boromir cried to Gandalf over the howling of the rushing air. 'This will be the death of us all!'  
  
'Curse you Caradhras!' Gimli shouted, kicking in a rage at the snow that threatened to trip him with every step he took.  
  
'There is a cliff ahead,' Gandalf called back, appearing a flickering memory branded on the snow motes to those who came in his wake, wavering in the blizzard as he was. 'That will be the closest to shelter we shall get. Have faith, it is not far.'  
  
With ill-timing, Aragorn began to kick and struggle. 'Hold still,' Boromir said fiercely, pulling him upright as he sagged to the ground in an attempt to escape their hands. 'Get them away! Get them away!' Aragorn shrieked, and his teeth had suddenly clamped down hard on Boromir's wrist. With a hissing cry of pain, Boromir stumbled backwards and slipped. Legolas made to leap for him, but Aragorn was on hands and knees and scrambling away as fast as he could. Grasping the Ranger by the collar, Legolas succeeded in drawing him to a halt; but not in keeping him quiet or still.  
  
Aragorn screamed, a high-pitched and anguished keening, as if the Elf had skewered him with a rusty spear and twisted it within him. As Legolas stared at him in horror, Aragorn reared up on his knees and with a flailing motion had knocked the Elf sideways into a shallow drift.  
  
Merry and Pippin had come rushing back and siezed hold of Aragorn, who proceeded to thrash and shriek in a most uncouth fashion.  
  
'Be still!'  
  
Gandalf's deep voice came booming down the snowy slope, and the wizard's dark shape loomed out of the curtain of flying ice. Aragorn bared his teeth and a low growl issued from his lips, held down by weight by Merry and Pippin.  
  
Boromir came crawling from where he had fallen, glaring at Aragorn with a burning dislike and desire to throttle him. Legolas pulled himself from the drift, brushing the snow from his dampened clothes. Tears were glistening in his strong Elven eyes: a warrior broken at the heart.  
  
Aragorn snatched at Frodo, crying out, 'The Ring! The Ring! Must have ... NO ... give it to me!' Before Frodo could say anything, as Sam leapt before him to protect him from the insane Aragorn, Gandalf's staff had cracked down hard on the Ranger's head and he lay unconscious before the bewildered Gamgee's feet.  
  
Gandalf lifted his hat and sighed heavily. 'Alas that it should be so,' he said wearily. 'I am sorry, my friend Aragorn. I had no wish to do that; but you are becoming a danger not only to your companions but to yourself.' 


	3. Love or loathing?

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry! A thousand apologies! I know I have been really slack in getting these next few chapters up, but I have valid excuses! The word program on my computer is not very compatible with the one I have to use to post my stories on the website. I would have updated sooner, but the internet computer was very evil and decided to stuff up my stories with one easy clean sweep.  
  
Really, it was a huge mess. That said, please read and review.  
  
Cheers!  
  
Thorn Dew'Pearled  
  
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'It is cold, and we cannot light a fire. What other pleasantries has this mountain to bestow upon us?' Boromir said bitterly, as they gathered as close to the cliff as possible, although it provided only frugile protection against the storm and they felt their blood must surely be freezing.  
  
The hobbits were growing drowsy, unaccustomed to such cruel chillness. With every minute that passed their drooping eyelids sank lower, until Frodo, Merry and Pippin had sunk into a fitful slumber. 'Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo, this isn't a good place to go to sleep in,' whispered Sam, shaking his master. Frodo mumbled and stirred, weakly opening his eyes. 'So tired ... ,' he said softly.  
  
Gimli threw down the flints in frustration. It had surpassed both Elvish and Dwarvish skill to light a fire, and as yet they had not roused more than a spark from the stones. 'So it comes to the choice between fire and death,' he said gruffly, glaring hatefully at the kindling; 'but it is impossible to raise even a spark. Curse this ill night!'  
  
Gandalf leaned in silence against the cliff, the brim of his hat once again hiding his face.  
  
Unable to secure Aragorn to sturdy tree or steady boulder, they had bound his legs and arms to prevent him from doing much more than writhing, for his sake and theirs. As an extra safety precaution Boromir had gagged him, afraid of hidden enemies being alerted of their presence by his shouts and curses.  
  
'I can't wake them,' came Sam's dismal voice. 'They've gone all death- like; all cold.' All eyes turned in his direction, and they understood what he was talking about. Frodo, Merry and Pippin were sleeping peacefully on a mattress of snow; Sam had done everything to rouse them but had not succeeded.  
  
'We need a fire,' said Boromir, and then his eyes fell upon the idle wizard. 'Why do you just stand there Gandalf? Cannot you do something?'  
  
Gandalf seemed to wake, and peered thoughtfully at Boromir, then took up his staff. 'I did say that it would be right to light a fire when the choice between flame and death came upon us,' he said. 'Very well, stand back and I shall see what I may do.'  
  
Obligingly his companions stepped away. Gandalf pointed the end of his staff at the bed of dry fuel and uttered inaudible words. A jet of white light shot from the end, momentarily rendering them sightless, and then a warm wreath of flickering gold cloaked them all, and a fire was crackling merrily on its bed. The hobbits were woken at last and moved to sit beside the fire and share in its life-giving warmth.  
  
'Aragorn, would you like to move closer?' Legolas asked the Ranger, who was lying on his side with his eyes half-closed. Afraid he was near dead, Legolas shook him worriedly. Aragorn gave a violent start and stared at him, then nodded wearily, his eyes sinking closed once again. The Elf helped him closer to the blaze, noticing the blue hue his lips had taken on.  
  
'We will have to be wary of the true Aragorn in future,' he said softly as he moved to sit beside Boromir. 'I fear for greatly for his own safety with that - thing abiding within him.'  
  
'How can you tell the difference?' muttered Boromir. 'How can we be sure that Aragorn is still there, and this being has not killed him and taken his body for itself? Or is this Aragorn as he really is?'  
  
'I know,' said Legolas knowledgably. 'Trust me. Long have I been a friend to him; since he was a child. I am quite capable of knowing one from the other, rest assured.'  
  
Boromir grumbled without words, shifted uneasily and cast concerned eyes towards the Little Folk. The ever faithful Sam was tending to Frodo, who stubbornly refused his administrations, and eventually rebuked the gardener for his perserverance when his help had been declined. Sam bowed his head and retreated sulkily a safe distance from his Master, who seemed suddenly to come to his senses and sent a reproachful gaze in his sorry friend's direction, but said nothing.  
  
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Night had closed in, and the storm had died down and faded to a crisp, pleasant breeze that ruffled hair and clothing with a gentle coolness. A light coverlet of sleep lay over them, while lingering death crept upon the fire. Every now and then one would stir, and care to stoke the fire back into flaring life, keeping winter at bay for the moment.  
  
They knew that their presence had been noted, for within the hour several large boulders had rolled past, no doubt meant for them. It was Sam who first woke to the grey light of dawn. Aragorn, he saw, was curled up against the cliff wall, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking steadily. Brow furrowed in bemusement, he ventured to wander quietly over, keeping a safe distance. Aragorn barely glanced at him, and once again he was murmuring strangely to himself.  
  
'St-Strider?' he stuttered, reaching tentively out to touch the Ranger's shoulder.  
  
'Sam, I've lost it, haven't I?' came the low voice, and a smile twitched at his lips as he looked up to meet the hobbit's eyes. 'I am sorry - for all of this, I mean.'  
  
'It's not your fault,' Sam consoled in relief, with a comforting smile. 'I don't know what has gotten into me,' said Aragorn softly, his eyes suddenly teary. 'It has taken my will wholly - I think it sleeps at the moment. I am allowed my freedom for a short time. Sam, I need you to do something for me.'  
  
'What?' asked Sam, crouching down beside him. 'You must keep Frodo as far from me as you can,' said Aragorn, grasping his wrist. 'This creature wants the Ring, but it must not have it, do you understand?'  
  
Frightened, Sam nodded and swallowed hard. 'I promise,' he said, patting the Ranger's hand. 'I also need you to do something else for me,' said Aragorn. 'Pray tell Boromir and Legolas what I have said to you. I know these past two days have not been easy on any of you, and I deeply regret this misfortune - '  
  
'It's not your fault, Strider,' Sam interrupted.  
  
'Yes, be that as it may ... ,' said Aragorn, but abruptly changed the subject. 'Sam - if ever I get too far out of hand, I want you to kill me.'  
  
Sam gasped loudly, and clapped a hand over his mouth. Aragorn's watery eyes gazed at him imploringly. 'Please,' he whispered.  
  
Knowing Aragorn would have no peace unless he promised something, Sam reluctantly nodded. 'I will tell the others,' he said, but his promise was empty. Aragorn smiled wearily and clasped the hobbit's hands warmly. 'Thank you Sam, you are a true friend,' he said gratefully. 'Now go.'  
  
Sam obediently crawled away, his mind in turmoil and his heart hammering in his tight chest.  
  
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'Sam? You seem a little downcast today.' Frodo glanced worriedly at his friend, who was walking with bowed head and bent back, staring at the road with wide eyes.  
  
'Hmm? Oh, er, 'tis nothing Mr. Frodo,' he stuttered uneasily.  
  
Frodo nodded slowly, disbelieving, but pressed the matter no further.  
  
The air was once again pierced by Aragorn's screaming. Sam flinched, and a tear fell from one eye and plummeted to earth. Frodo did not notice, fortunately for Sam.  
  
They had left the snows of Caradhras, admitting final defeat. It had been an arduous struggle, but they had made it, and noon was upon them.  
  
'Aragorn, hush,' came Legolas' exasperated voice, trying to calm their insane companion. Boromir was ready to strike Aragorn over the head, but Legolas' pleading stayed his hasty hand. Aragorn shook his head violently, his tangled mane of dark hair flying about his face. 'N-no ... stop,' he whispered weakly, then suddenly he expelled the contents of his stomach and his legs buckled beneath him as he fell again into a dead faint.  
  
Boromir eyed with distaste the mess that had splashed over his shirt, dropping Aragorn in his disgust. Legolas caught the Ranger in both arms as he slumped to the ground. 'Gandalf!' he called. 'Gandalf, we must stop! We shall have to clean him up before we can go any further.'  
  
'I knew we should have kept him gagged,' said Gimli, but he found the sight of Legolas covered in horrid mess quite beguiling.  
  
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Legolas was given the task of cleaning the Ranger, although Pippin volunteered his services to the Elf, sympathetic towards the Prince of Mirkwood; who was indeed suffering the most from Aragorn's madness.  
  
Pippin tugged the ragged tunic over the sleeping Ranger's head. 'Oh dear,' he sighed. 'It's certainly done well this time, whatever it is.'  
  
Legolas, rubbing at his own soiled clothing with the hem of his cloak, nodded. 'He is trying to fight it,' he said, his usually strong, clear voice subtled by an aching weariness. 'That is why this happened. He is not strong enough. Oh, Aragorn, can you not leave it be for the time being?' he cried, touching light fingers to the Ranger's fevered brow. 'Can he not see? The more he fights, the stronger it becomes.'  
  
'Don't fret yourself, Legolas,' said Pippin gently, as Legolas rested his brow in the palm of one hand and shook his head despairingly. 'I ... I just cannot see it,' he murmured, averting his gaze. 'I cannot believe it - I would never have thought ... '  
  
'Legolas, getting yourself all emotional and worked up is not going to help Aragorn or you,' said Pippin. 'We can only look after him, he has to do the rest for himself.'  
  
'Yes - yes, you are right,' said Legolas haltingly, and hurriedly dabbed at his eyes with a sleeve. Pippin stared incredulously at him: he had never before seen the Elf cry - he hadn't known Elves even could cry!  
  
'I'm sorry,' the Elven Prince murmured, drying shamedly his tear-welled eyes with a long sleeve. At last the dam he had built and maintained for so long had broken free of its bonds, and now flooded him with a drowning wave.  
  
Pippin shook his head. 'Don't be,' he said, his tone laced with bewilderment. 'What have you to apologise for? You haven't done anything wrong as far as I know - you weren't going to steal my blankets this morning, were you?'  
  
Legolas smiled weakly and laughed, clapping the hobbit gratefully on the shoulder. 'Let us be thankful there is at least one among us whose good humour can never be slain.'  
  
Pippin grinned sheepishly, bowing his head. 'Right, now, where's that scrubbing thing so I can remove Aragorn's shirt of this filth?' he said cheerfully.  
  
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The day meandered towards noon, the sun ascending slowly to its zenith. Aragorn's temporary fits of madness had passed swiftly, leaving the Ranger bereft of his strength; sprawled upon the ground he lay, sometimes wakening momentarily to murmur wordlessly in a daze. Other than that he displayed no sign of life, lying deathly pale and still when he slept, his chest barely moving with his inhalations, worrying his companions. As Legolas had already succumbed to grief and could no longer bear witness to Aragorn's slow, agonising demise; it fell to those whose hearts were made of sterner stuff to watch over him.  
  
The Elven Prince had left without word, taking his leave to walk alone in the thriving gardens of the wilderness.  
  
Aragorn groaned, one hand falling limply to the dust and writhing as a snake in the throes of death. Sweat dewed his forehead, his fever had increased rapidly, without warning. No longer could hand be set upon his brow with being hastily drawn away, the flesh scalded. The Ranger was beset by some inner conflagration, and his precarious situation seemed to grow dire.  
  
'He fights it,' murmured Gandalf, unwarily repeating Legolas' words, though speaking to no one in particular. 'He will die if he continues to battle; why can he not leave it be until we can rid him of this parasitic being, whomever it be?' His voice grew angered, and he rose, silhouetted menacingly against the rich cobolt of the sky.  
  
Sam cowered within his faint shadow, fearful beyond words. Silently he wept, for Aragorn, for Legolas, for Frodo - for all of them, whose fate was undeterminable but seemed iminently to veer steadily and inevitably towards one course.  
  
Death.  
  
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Don't worry, this will begin to progress a little further, and wade a little deeper into the intended story . I'm just not sure when (  
  
Thank you to all previous reviewers, it is much (as aforementioned) appreciated - I enjoy writing this story and so it doesn't look like becoming another abandoned project. 


	4. Bound to the Heart: Part 1

A/N: There is none! YAY!  
  
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'Riddles. All riddles. This is growing ridiculous!'  
  
Merry, patience thoroughly worn, bad-tempered took up a stone and flung it across the still, silent surface of the sable-depthed Mirrormere. The Moria Gate, apparent in flowing viens of moonlight silver, allowed them no entry, requiring a password before they might pass.  
  
Gandalf had pointlessly uttered every spell that came to mind, in the tongues of Men, Dwarves, Elves, and even the dreaded, vulgar speech of the Orcs. Bemused and weary, he slumped now upon a nearby boulder, the wiry branches of a leafless holly bush stretching over the wizard, seen now as a broken, age-afflicted and world-weary old man.  
  
Aragorn had recently suffered another of his 'funny turns', as Sam had named his abrupt changes in demeanour. No longer in his former self, the uncouth other had taken over. The true Ranger had ceased to struggle against this other overpowering will. Legolas inwardly prayed he had come to understand that he had not the strength of mind to fight it. Boromir was again holding the tether.  
  
'Must ... no ... hobbits - ack!' cried Aragorn in a fury, and at once began another tantrum, trying to loosen his binds and kick his companions away from him, writhing and shouting terrible expletives. Pippin turned away, his ears locked safely behind his hands, but it did little to deaden the noise, save muffle it mildly.  
  
'Keep him still!' came Gandalf's booming voice. 'I cannot think with him screaming so! Render him unconscious if you must, just silence him!'  
  
Wide eyes fell upon him. Gandalf ignored them and returned to his fruitless ponderings of the riddle over the Gates:  
  
Speak, friend, and enter.  
  
Pointedly he had ignored the infuriating stupidity of the Took and the Brandybuck, who had at once asked what it could possibly mean after it had been translated for their benefit into the Common Tongue. Now his temper was growing short, and the night was growing late.  
  
The watery eye of the moon peered out at them from behind its coronet of wispy cloud, borne on the back of a light breeze. Frodo was struck by sudden inspiration. Leaping to his feet, he asked, 'Friend! Gandalf, what is the Elvish word for friend?'  
  
A momentary silence ensued, in which the wizard's deep and pensive gaze rested upon the trembling hobbit, and his bearded lips uttered, 'Mellon.'  
  
With a horrible grinding of stone, that prickled their skin like a veritable army of needles, the Gates swung slowly outward. Darkness reigned within, untouched by any light. Beyond the threshold there lay only impregnable obscurity. Whatever malign creature may skulk within could not be espied beneath such a concealing cloak.  
  
'Nevertheless, it must be risked,' said Gandalf, lifting up his staff and setting foot warily into the Mines. In a close huddle the others followed, Boromir half-dragging the unyeilding Aragorn, whose eyes were now unfocused. Words were mangled upon his lips, indiscernable. Legolas looked heart-rendingly back at him, Boromir said nothing as he forcefully brought Aragorn with him.  
  
Then it happened. Half a heart beat it took, at the least. A loud scream rent the air. Loud cries of, 'Frodo!' issued from the hobbits, bringing up the rear, prepared to retreat hastily should anything malevolent be uncovered or descried.  
  
Aragorn fell to his knees, slumping forward as the support of Boromir's hand was at once removed to claim the hilt of his sword. The Ranger fell with a noisy clatter into an unkempt pile of dirty bones - the entrance hall was a tomb.  
  
Gimli cried aloud in grief; Legolas gripped his arm before he could fall to his knees before the disintigrating corpse of one of Balin's folk. 'Stay strong,' he hissed in the Dwarf's ear, and thrust him forwards, harbouring little love for the mountain dwellers.  
  
Frodo clawed desperately at the pebbled shore, a mottled green tentacle secured about his ankle and pulling him down, to be swallowed by the black waters of the lake. Bravely his cousin's and gardener slashed at the hideous limb: the severed end oozed a foul smelling liquid, almost like stale water but far more pungent, almost unbearably so.  
  
Without warning, Legolas was on hands and knees, retching, made nauseous but the repulsive stench, his bow falling uselessly to one side and his arrows spilling from his quiver - or was it caused by something else far more terrible? The smell was indeed foul, but not so horrendous it caused those whose noses were unfortunate enough to behold it to be violently ill. Boromir gagged, and succoured his nostrils from the terrible stench, wielding his sword valiantly as he leapt into the fray.  
  
Pippin, his stomach heaving, ran to Legolas' side and pulled him unsteadily to his feet. Merry's brow furrowed in disgust, as desperately he tried to stifle the stink with a thick fold of his shirt.  
  
One by one Boromir felled the writhing mass of worming tentacles that burst from the water to restrain him and claim the malignant creature's prize. 'Legolas!' he cried, faltering. 'Legolas!'  
  
Frodo, hoisted higher and dangled mercilessly as a worm on a hook, screamed helplessly, terrified. Sam could only watch dismally.  
  
A piercing whistled split the once peaceful night. With a sickening ssshhhunk an arrow found its mark, delving deep into the flesh of the limb that held Frodo. With a wild shudder it released the hobbit, who plunged a great distance, and safely into the waiting arms of Boromir, who hastened for the shore, calling to the Elvish archer.  
  
Legolas, mildly revived, strung a last arrow to his bow, as the gaping jaws of the Watcher emerged above the surface, roaring in rage, cheated of its meal. The feathered shaft struck the beast between the eyes. With a shriek the head was submerged. Taking chance of its distraction, the Fellowship hurried into Moria.  
  
The Watcher heaved its foul bulk upon the shore, tentacles searching, searching for the perpetrators, eager for meat. The Gate crumbled in under its dreadful strength, and they were thrust into a winter night, devoid of moon or stars.  
  
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'Aragorn! Where is Aragorn?'  
  
Legolas' voice was the first to break the deathly silence, resounding loudly about the unseen barricades of looming black rock. 'Hush,' Gandalf admonished him in whispering tones. A white light burst brightly into the passage, almost blinding them. Throwing up their hands, they shielded their eyes against the glare.  
  
'Yea, where indeed is our Ranger?' said Boromir, glancing about the impregnable obscurity that marched forth from every nook and cranny.  
  
Of Aragorn there was no sign.  
  
Gandalf cursed under his breath, turned to face the inestimable vastness of the deeply mined shafts. A faint light was seen to gleam from a fault in the roof, the only trace that remained of the outside world.  
  
'Oh dear,' murmured Sam worriedly, wringing his hands. 'What shall we do? With Strider vanished like that, and us here not knowing where he's gotten himself to ... what if he's fallen to his doom?'  
  
'Do not say such things Sam,' Frodo gently reprimanded him. 'I could not bear such thoughts - nay, I shall not have such thoughts. Surely we should have heard him had he ... ' He trailed away into silence, though his meaning was clear.  
  
'I heard no scream - although I could hear nothing over the collapse of the Gateway,' mused Merry. 'That lad had a good head on his shoulders; but there be no telling what he'll do now,' came Gimli's voice, frowning like his brow.  
  
'Indeed,' said Gandalf. 'Then I fear we must needs find him before we may do aught else. Fear not, good Elf. He shall be found, and I am sure he will be hale,' the wizard added as reassurance to the tensed Legolas, whose face was as pale as the glow shed by the wooden Istari stave.  
  
'Should we risk seperating, to cover more ground?' suggested Merry timidly, knotting a corner of his shirt upon one finger in unease.  
  
'If we do so, we risk becoming lost,' interjected Boromir roughly. 'Do not be stupid Master Meriadoc.' Merry fell at once silent. Pippin cast Boromir a venomous glare as he placed one arm comfortingly about the tense shoulder's of his cousin, who seemed ready to weep.  
  
'He doesn't mean it Merry,' the young hobbit whispered. 'He's just upset and angry. He doesn't mean the harsh things he might say.'  
  
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Whether day had fled into night, or night into day there was no way of knowing. Beneath the bulk of the mountains all was shadow, untouched saved by the faint glimmer of Gandalf's staff. 'Ah, that we might be allowed to call for him,' murmured Sam, his face drawn as furtive glances were cast into the creeping darkness. 'Mayhap then he would be found faster.'  
  
'But we cannot be sure whether or no he is in his sane state,' said Gimli softly, determined to raise no neccessary noise and prove to that spiteful Elf he could be as graceful and lithe of movement as any of the First Born. 'And what other foul beasties might come answering in his stead?'  
  
Frodo shuddered. 'Speak not of that Gimli,' he pleaded. 'I cannot bear the thought - indeed, I cannot bear these Mines! They are as open as the meadows of the Shire, yet as dark and foul and confining as a prison. Comfort has long forsaken me, I wish we had never taken vote to enter here.'  
  
'Would you have preferred to perish upon the peak of Caradhras, helpless against the winter and malevolence of the mountain?' Merry asked him. Frodo frowned, and shook his curly head. 'Nay, I suppose not - but this place harbours many fell creatures, their presence is thick,' he answered.  
  
Legolas strode along in silence, his eyes staring as the empty windows of an unlit tower, his hair as a curtain of fatal frost descending upon a heavenly garden. His Elvish beauty was suddenly sharp, and cold, like a shard of ice unremitting to the golden warmth of the sun. Death was the closest word that could be found to describe his countenance in that moment, when Aragorn was still absent and perhaps in dire peril.  
  
Boromir was the first to try and break the Elf's melancholy mood. 'He shall be found,' he repeated Gandalf's words, and hesitatingly placed a hand upon one stiff shoulder. Legolas gave no answer, merely inclined his head to show he heard and acknowledged Boromir's words; but appeared to pay them little heed. His vacant expression did not change, the pale skin remained unmoved.  
  
The Son of the Steward fell momentarily silent, and opened his mouth to speak, lifting a hand as if to express a point, but instead he placed the open palm against his brow and moved from the Elven Prince's side, falling back into the concealment of shadow, where none would see his uncharacteristic tears.  
  
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'I cannot be certain of the way - no memory have I of this place.'  
  
'Lost, I knew it.'  
  
'Quiet Pippin; Gandalf's trying to think.'  
  
'Sorry - I'm hungry.'  
  
'Pippin!'  
  
Draped carelessly over stones, pensive and expressionless, the remaining members of the slowly sundering Fellowship awaited the return of Gandalf's recollections in the throes of despair. Every now and then faint scratchings were carried on the draughts of staling air, and what almost seemed to be the faint incoherent murmurings of a dark voice.  
  
'Tis nay but the wind laddie,' concluded Gimli, as Frodo leapt to his feet and gazed wide-eyed into the consuming blackness.  
  
'That is no wind, unless wind have words and mouth,' muttered Boromir.  
  
'There is something skulking in our wake,' said Legolas quietly, and rose slowly to his feet, one hand to his quiver and the other upon the Mirkwood short-bow.  
  
'Lay down your weapons,' Gandalf commanded them, as swords began to depart their scabbards. 'Be it friend or foe, let it alone. We cannot be sure.'  
  
Two bright pinpoints of light kindled in the darkness, gleamed for a moment, and then were gone, followed by a scuffling noise as the indistinguishable creature apparently lost interest in stalking and retreated.  
  
Frodo, chest heaving as he gulped in air, feeling light headed and nauseous, clambered up beside the Elf. 'It was Aragorn,' he whispered. Legolas nodded, betraying no sign of his emotion upon his serene face. 'I will go after him, later, when the others sleep,' he said.  
  
'Y-you cannot!' Frodo gasped. Legolas silenced him with a hand to the mouth. 'Quiet,' the Elf hissed irritably. 'My business is my own - tell no other. This I shall do, whether with your agreement or without. I cannot abandon Estel.'  
  
'I am loath to - ' Frodo began, but a slender hand was thrust in his face in wordless command. 'Remain this night Frodo; I shall take up the hunt,' Legolas muttered to the astonished Ringbearer. 'When you wake, and if I am absent, say no word. Let them think what they will, I shall take this matter into my own hands.'  
  
Legolas had unwarily let his words fall upon the ears of another, who at once heard and heeded, becoming thoughtful. Whether the Elf wished it or not, he would not be venturing out alone come the time for rest.  
  
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Ooh! Am busy trying to be suspenseful - is it working? 


	5. Bound to the Heart: Part 2

A/N: As of yet I am not sure whether or not to include the promised slash. If I do it will only be very mild, I am not a slash writer. It is not that I disapprove of slash, mostly I struggle to write any type of romance, be they heterosexual or homosexual.  
  
Cheers!  
  
Thorn Dew'Pearled  
  
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'It's rather - dank, isn't it.'  
  
'What would you expect of a long abandoned guardroom, Pippin?'  
  
Peregrin lifted his shoulders in a shrug, letting them drop abruptly and leaving his arms swinging as he surveyed the uninviting chamber. There had been a minor collapse of the cieling towards the back end, and a black hole gaped in the floor.  
  
'An old well,' Boromir observed, venturing forward, maintaining a safe distance from the edge and peering in. 'The cover has been smashed - one can barely see a hand before a face, how may we be certain we will not wander and fall?'  
  
'If one keeps one's feet, then one shall remain safe,' advised Gandalf. 'This is the only shelter we have for now, let us use it as we may ... Peregrin! Do not stand upon the edge!'  
  
Pippin, who had been attempting to fathom how many miles down a blundering idiot might fall should they step into the well, hung his head and slunk away. He had grown accustomed to the countless reprimands he often recieved from the irritable old Istari; but that did not ease the hurt that ached when the wizard's voice boomed angrily at him.  
  
Legolas had become oddly quiet, though his companions were too preoccupied with their thoughts to notice or care. And so much the better, Legolas thought grimly, crossing his arms against his chest. Should they know, I would never be permitted to leave.  
  
'Now Mr. Frodo, don't you go a-strolling in the night,' Sam admonished his master, and pointed towards the open well. 'You'll go plummeting goodness knows how far.'  
  
Frodo chuckled and removed the over-protective Gamgee's hand from his shoulder. 'I shall not go strolling, my legs can barely manage another step without crumpling beneath me. And I am sure you, my faithful Sam, should notice if I decided to take a walk in the dark.'  
  
'If the cover were not demolished, we might close this mouth of doom,' said Gandalf at length, scuffing a foot against a jagged slab of stone. 'Be that as it may, we must needs rest. A long and arduous journey it has proved thus far, and sleep will be needed before we may continue. A sentry shall - '  
  
'I shall take first watch,' Legolas volunteered hastily, and then bowed his head. 'I would prefer it if those who need rest more than I did so first,' he continued in a calmer tone, hoping his expressionless countenance did not betray his inner feelings. 'I am keen of eye and ear, being of the Elven kindred. Let me guard those who sleep.'  
  
'A valiant offer, Legolas,' acknowledged Gandalf, inclining his head; 'but I would rather be the one to first take the post this night.'  
  
Legolas' eyes widened of a sudden, and one hand flew upwards to clutch in desperation at his chest. A gasp escaped his throat; swaying, he steadied himself against a crumbling pillar. Agony seared through him - as fast as it had beset him, it left.  
  
'I am fine,' he cried, before the worried volley of questions could be fired. 'Please, Gandalf, I beg of you: let me take first watch.' Turning to the wizad he held out his hands imploringly. 'Please,' he murmured. 'It would ease my mind.'  
  
'You seem in no condition for that, dear Elf,' Gandalf said concernsedly. 'Let me take a look at you, I can - '  
  
'No, please, I am well!' Legolas persisted. 'It was merely a rush of shock, I fear for Aragorn.' 'As do we all,' said Boromir, his brow frowning as he cast his scrutinizing gaze over the Elf. 'Legolas, maybe it would be best if you let Gan - '  
  
'Why can I not take first watch?' Legolas said. 'Rest! Rest, I say!'  
  
Too weary to argue with the stubborn prince, they retired at his command, crawling into blankets and lying down near friends to ensure none went wandering into danger. 'I think he's been bitten by that thing too,' Sam muttered to Frodo, pulling his cloak across their bodies. 'Mad, I say - 'tis not like him, not like him at all.'  
  
'Go to sleep Sam,' said Frodo, turning over, one hand at his throat. 'If he wants to guard, let him guard.'  
  
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A rare peace descended upon them. Legolas stood warily at the entrance to the guardroom, ears and eyes keen. 'What is wrong with me?' he murmured, and passed a bleary hand before his eyes, turning it over to gaze at the back with furrowed brow. 'Why do I falter so?'  
  
'Mayhap because rarely do you rest, and concern yourself only with the matters of others,' came a soft voice from the shadows. Legolas, unsuspecting, gave a violent start, slumping suddenly to the floor . Strong arms caught him in his inevitable descent, halting before the slender form met the cold hardness of the stone. 'Boromir?" he whispered, his eyes fixing upon the pale face that hovered above him.  
  
'Legolas, what ails you?' The words came slowly to his ears. Vision began to swim. A hand steadied his head. 'Legolas?'  
  
'It is nothing Boromir, go back to sleep,' said Legolas lamely, rising unsteadily to his feet. 'You cannot decieve me,' said the Steward's Son. 'Your words were not heard only by Frodo. If you would go hunting the Ranger, then I am coming, whether you like it or not. As Gandalf said, you are in no condition for such undertakings, especially alone.'  
  
'Boromir, do not defy me!' hissed Legolas, his strength returning, flooding his leaden limbs with empowering life once again. 'I go alone.'  
  
'Then you go not at all, for if you will not welcome companionship than I shall prevent your leaving,' said Boromir in an undertone. 'What should Gandalf say?'  
  
'This is injustice!' hissed Legolas fiercely, afraid of awakening the sleepers. 'Leave me be, go back to bed.'  
  
'That I will not. Consider your choices wisely: you either let me come, or I alert Gandalf.'  
  
Legolas glared with a severe burning hatred in that moment, until his face seemed to have been swept with an invisible tide and fury was replaced with distress. 'Come then,' he murmured, admitting defeat. 'I shall hold no responsibility for you; I go only for Aragorn.'  
  
'I need not a guardian, rather it will be you who benefits from my aid,' said Boromir, smiling grimly, pleased. 'I know all is not as it seems with you, Elf.'  
  
And I shall find out what is amiss, he thought, watching Legolas' retreating back and following closely at the prince's heels.  
  
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Burning, always burning. A malice to drown all of Mankind, a hatred to burn all of Middle-Earth. Misery, fear, anger, malevolence - a maelstrom of uncertainty, his mind was in turmoil. His hands and knees bled, his garments torn to rags by a fruitless struggle with the violent other. Pain seared through his aching body, like knives relentlessly stabbing his grime- smeared flesh.  
  
Silver tears gathered in his eyes and fell, shattering upon the black rock. Crawling, he had to go on - an incessant urge to continue nagged at his stricken mind.  
  
'Leave me be,' he wept, clambering onwards. 'Leave me be. Why do you not leave me be?'  
  
'Have I not made my intentions clear yet? Is another punishment in order before finally you understand.'  
  
'No! No, please!'  
  
'You are an inferior coward compared to me.'  
  
Helplessly arguing with himself, terribly degrading for the exiled King of Gondor, yet to claim his rightful crown and thrown. And his lady love. Oh, how his heart ached for she of Rivendell, she of dark hair and soft lips, caressing touch and loving words.  
  
His hand slipped upon a narrow escarpment, he tumbled down painfully to lie still upon the stone. His breath trembled in his chest. Weeping hopelessly, flinging one hand across his face, he curled upon his side.  
  
'Be careful you imcompetent fool!' he hissed, teeth bared in a vicious snarl.  
  
'Leave me be,' he whispered pleadingly.  
  
'Get up! Need I cause you more injury?' came the quick sneer, as the fingers of one hand closed threateningly about the uneven surface of a loose fragment of stone.  
  
'No, please - I need rest.'  
  
'Rest then, pitiful worm.'  
  
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'Legolas!'  
  
'If you cannot match my pace, then turn back!'  
  
'Legolas, slow I beseech you! You will only injure yourself, you are not well!'  
  
'I am fine.'  
  
Legolas strode strongly ahead, with uneccessary speed, determined to lose the thorn that stung his side. Boromir ran in his wake, imploring him to stop. Legolas pressed onwards, ignorant of the Man's advice.  
  
'We shall get lost!' Boromir cried after him. 'Legolas!'  
  
Without a light to aid their eyes, obstacles hidden in the darkness could not be known until they were tripped upon, or brushed against. Whether a steep precipitation or a depthless abyss lay ahead, neither knew.  
  
'Legolas! Harken to me!'  
  
'Go back Boromir. I haven't time for your hindrances.'  
  
Plead as he might, Boromir could not make himself heard. Legolas had barricaded his ears, listening and watching for nothing but the slightest sign of Aragorn. Please let him be well, he prayed silently within the confines of his mind. Do not let him lie dead, please!  
  
Without warning, his legs could no longer support him. He crumpled to the ground with a weak cry. Boromir hastened towards him, lifting the Elf as the sudden weakness incapacitated him again. 'I will take you back, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming,' the Man said firmly.  
  
The Elf shook his head. 'Nay, Aragorn - I must find him,' were the whispered words. 'Legolas, you are not well. I beg of you, let us return - Gandalf can heal you,' argued Boromir.  
  
'Aragorn ... '  
  
'Forget him! There is time enough to find him later. If we do not turn back, our deaths will be inevitable.'  
  
'Then let it be that way - I am not returning without Aragorn.'  
  
'Why are you so stubborn?'  
  
'Why must you persist?'  
  
'We are a Fellowship, we must look out for one another.'  
  
'To that I hold.'  
  
'Legolas, please! Do not do this, not now.'  
  
'Turn back then.'  
  
'Without my help you cannot go onwards.'  
  
'Then leave me here to die.'  
  
'As you wish it,' said Boromir angrily, and left the Elf sprawled hopelessly. He retreated only a few paces, to gauge the Elf's reaction to his absence. Legolas merely stared at the cieling, his eyes glistening. A short while passed, and he began to struggle to return to his feet and go on. His determination stunned Boromir: how could one person be so devoted to another they would willingly walk to death for them?  
  
The Elf fell against the rock wall, his breathing laboured. Boromir threw aside all rational thought; he could not abandon the prince when so inexplicably vulnerable. His heart was not in it. He would remain by Legolas' side.  
  
'Will you not sit awhile then?' he asked, emerging from behind a carven column. Legolas smiled weakly, his eyes half-closed as he regarded Boromir with a knowing look. 'Your conscience weighs you down, does it?' he said, and collapsed sideways in a faint.  
  
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'Merry! Merry, wake up!'  
  
'Mmm ... what now Pippin?'  
  
'Legolas and Boromir have gone!'  
  
'What?'  
  
Merry sat upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 'I'd be willing to bet they're off after Aragorn,' muttered the crouching figure of Pippin, his eyes glancing towards the door. 'Either that or they've fallen down the well. Neither thoughts are very comforting.'  
  
'Nay, they would not be so foolish as to have dropped into the hole.' Merry took up his Westernesse dagger and strapped it to his waist. 'They may be lost - or worse,' he said, troubled. 'I am going after them.'  
  
'Merry! Do not be stupid!'  
  
'What else should I do? If we wake Gandalf, he'll be in a murderous rage, and then we shall have a frantic rush. If they do not come back of their own accord, what then? Do we all go and get lost? I would not have the others know, they would only prove a hindrance; and if Frodo were lost, Middle-Earth would be doomed.'  
  
'You're right - I'm coming.'  
  
'Pippin, don't be a fool.'  
  
Pippin, his eyes glinting in the obscurity, smiled gravely. 'I am as much of a fool as one may get, there is no harm in this,' he said. Merry gave in. 'Alright, come - but be quiet mind, or I shall throw you into the well,' he warned.  
  
Pippin nodded, his face set.  
  
Together they crept past the sleeping forms of Sam, Frodo, Gandalf and Gimli, and out into the rocky wilderness that was the Mines of Moria.  
  
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That's all for now folks! Will try to get the next few up A.S.A.P, but the future is looking rather grim. 


	6. Separation Anxiety

A/N: Please excuse my belated update, but education is very demanding. I've been trying to upload this one for quite some time now, but I kept forgetting because my mind is as full of holes as Swiss cheese. I suggest you don't hold your breath for the next update, but for the nonce here's chapter six. Hope you enjoy! Much thanks to Moro for your following!  
  
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'Please, partake of something! I shall quite easily force you, if you will not do so by your own will.'  
  
Awaiting the return of strength, Legolas rested now against a hard pillow of rock, softened somewhat by Boromir's cloak. A soft smile crept over his face.  
  
'Why do you care so?' he asked the Man of Gondor, regarding him with a speculative fondness. 'You know naught of me, aside from whence I hail and who I am; yet you would walk blindly with me at your own peril, now without question. But look not askance at me, I wish only to know.'  
  
Boromir lowered the waterskin and left the ration of bread aside, sitting back upon his haunches as he considered how best to answer such a question. Indeed, was there even an answer he might deliver that would sate the Elf's curiosity?  
  
'I have had little companionship throughout my life, save that of my brother. The world of one born into the line of the Gondorian Stewards - it is far removed from that to which Men of peasantry are born,' he said slowly, softly, as if it pained him to speak so. 'That moment of deliverance, of birth, when first you open your eyes to the sky, to the faces of your mother and your father, chains are clapped upon you. You are bound, enslaved to the power which you must learn to wield. To feel freedom, to know there are those who reciprocate your - feelings of association towards them ... I have never known or felt such.'  
  
A light chuckle issued from the Elf, and one hand clasped that of the Man. Boromir gave a start, so lost in his thoughts, wandering in times reminiscent, that the living touch of what was real frightened him. 'Then we have more in common than I at first thought - or rather, assumed,' said Legolas gently. 'You must forgive me my past misdemeanours towards you, I did not intend to shirk a willing companion. And do not think I flatter you, but such loyalty in Men I have rarely witnessed.'  
  
A scarlet hue crept unbidden into the cheeks of Boromir, and he abruptly turned away. To pay compliment to one of mortal ilk was to flatter them, regardless of whether or not it was intended. To hear such words from the mouth of an Elf of revered royal blood - it was almost unbelievable.  
  
'Will you at least drink a little,' Boromir said at length, when the blush had subsided and his former composure had returned.  
  
'Will you cease this wretched persistance if I do?' came the weary but good humoured answer. Boromir nodded, and the skin was excepted. Despite his prior arguments, stating that he had no need to assuage his thirst, the Elf drank as though he had never before been bestowed with the gift of the life- giving liquid.  
  
Boromir allowed himself to laugh inwardly at this. The Elf was older, wiser, and more beauteous than he; yet ironically it was the inferior mortal who knew best.  
  
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'Lost. I knew it. We shouldn't have wandered off without the guidance of - someone who knows more of this place than we do.'  
  
'Would you have willingly risked the rage of Gandalf if we had woken him?'  
  
'Well - yes, considering we might not be in this plight if we had.'  
  
'Are you coming with me or not?'  
  
Sulkily, Pippin nodded, trailing absent-mindedly in his cousin's wake. East had become West, North had become South, all directions converged upon a main course that meandered ever away and never towards certainty. If maps would have had any use in such a place of eternal night, and had he paid any attention to maps when he had had the chance, he would have kissed Lord Elrond for his assiduous studying habits. Within the hobbit's pack resided a map the Lord of Imladris had in secrecy bequeathed to him, where the others had politely declined his offer, saying maps would be no use to them.  
  
Although it did not show the outline of Moria, for even the most courageous of folk would not have dared to enter the Mines for the sake of charting geography, Pippin had a feeling it would prove its worth.  
  
'Ah, we've been here before!' cried Merry in despair. The familiarity of this place was disquieting - how many times had they traversed far only to find their feet wandering again to this dismal place?  
  
'How can you be sure? I can barely see my fingers before I poke my eyes,' said Pippin, peering around the Brandybuck's shoulder.  
  
'Then keep your hand away from your face,' Merry advised him moodily. 'Eyes may yet be of use; don't poke them out. For now keep every other sense you about you, if wit is too far beyond you.'  
  
Resent flowed over Pippin. For such loyalty, he was only ever rebuked. Did they not appreciate his company? It was injust that he should be belittled so in the eyes of his eight companions; who now were sundered from one another because of the meagre bite of an insect. It made no sense!  
  
'I say we stop for now. Surely the day or night has now fled by - if there is any way of knowing down here. It was folly to even enter the Gates,' muttered Merry, slinging down his pack and slumping to the ground. Pippin wished to alleviate the burden of Merry's mind; but as all things he said or did somehow went awry he thought it wiser to maintain silence.  
  
Relieving his shoulders of his travelling provisions, he lay down near Merry's side and slept fitfully, as one only could when cold drafts of chill air prickled the skin, and water dripped in the unknown deeps, resounding eerily as the hollow beat of a drum  
  
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'Phantoms!' Legolas gasped in horror. Boromir started beside him, glancing upwards fervently, trying to descry these phantoms Legolas spoke of.  
  
'There is naught there,' he whispered assuringly.  
  
'No!' breathed Legolas, struggling to speak, writhing in his agony of mind and body. 'There are - there are - they are coming!'  
  
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Water. A pool of it lay before his bleeding feet, mirroring upon the mirky surface his ruined reflection. Dropping hastily to his knees, Aragorn desperately dipped into the icy puddle his cupped hands, bringing them to his lips and drinking like one deprived for years on end. It tasted unclean, tainted by impure substance, but it slaked the burning ferocity his thirst had wreaked within his pain-wracked body.  
  
Blessed be the saving graces of nature, he thought. The being within him seemed to sleep, and had lain dormant for hours now, leaving him without direction, without companionship, no matter how unpleasant. He wished only to return to his friends, to find himself safely within the security of their company.  
  
Legolas will be worried, his mind told him dismally. When he is worried he acts rashly - what if now he has searched and fallen to his death in some deep shaft? Oh, do not let it be so! 'Silence these pitiful musings of yours.' The other had awoken.  
  
Aragorn trembled as the parasitic life energy ignited within him again. 'What use have you for me?' he stammered, glancing uneasily into the surrounding darkness. 'What purpose can I serve? And who are you? How came you to be inside me?'  
  
'Who am I? You would dare ask such a question?' the parasite spat angrily, and then calmed. 'Yet I am amused that you would dare. Very well, I shall tell you. I am called Shenlar, be satisifed and ask no more. As for how I came to be within you - recall you how a little boy gazed deep into something he should never have?'  
  
Aragorn froze. Memory came flooding back.  
  
A young boy, no more than five years, approached with unrestrained curiosity the carven pedestal, upon which rested a cloth covered thing of spherical proportions. Reaching up, a tentative hand tugged gently on the concealing cloak, which spilt like liquid into his little hands. His eyes saw. His mind yielded.  
  
He understood.  
  
'The palantir!' he cried, and doubled over as if in pain, sobbing raggedly and beating his brow with one fist. 'Yes, at last you have caught on,' hissed Shenlar in malcious glee. 'Your mind was revealed to me that day - shown in its entirity; your strengths ... and your weaknesses. 'You were a foolish child Estel, to do that which had been forbade. Truthfully only my will is within you, not I in person. Had you not tampered with that which was beyond your immature mind, you should not have become like this.  
  
'As for how my being came to bide within you, place your hand upon your neck. Now is your memory roused?'  
  
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'Those fools!'  
  
Gandalf paced restlessly, waving his staff, his wrath great.  
  
'Those utter idiots! What did they think to do? Legolas I've no doubt has gone searching for Aragorn; I should guess Boromir went with him, and then those Shire rapscalions after them. And what of Gimli? To where has he gone? Hoping to discover some long lost relation, I suppose.  
  
'The Fellowship is sundered! Already our cause waxes hopeless - we are truly broken.' 'You don't think they got - taken away in the night?' Sam ventured to say, from the corner in which he and Frodo were 'not getting underfoot'. 'Can you see Legolas, Boromir and Gimli being taken away without our knowing?' Frodo said softly. Frowning, Sam shook his head.  
  
'Well, there is now nothing for it,' said Gandalf, heaving a heavy sigh, shaking his head dismally as he clasped his staff once again. Now it appeared nothing more than support for an elderly man, for he leaned on it as he walked - something deeper then trouble was working devilry here. 'We shall have to chance the Mines, and see if any may be found. If not, we shall have to make our own way - we cannot risk you, Frodo, becoming lost here.'  
  
Frodo felt faint. With his absent companions went hope, and faith in their cause. How could he possibly bear the weight of his burden without the strength of their number to aid him?  
  
But Gandalf, oblivious to the thoughts of the troubled Ringbearer, had already strode to the door and was peering cautiously out. 'It is safe to leave,' he observed, turning back to the small forms of his remaining followers. 'Let us away.'  
  
Trembling, Frodo clutched desperately to Sam, as if he had fallen into a deep well and only his servant could buoy him up, save him from enduring final rest in a watery grave. Together, the three crept into the dark.  
  
And then, with a sudden gasp and a chorus of shrieking, the light of Gandalf's staff was extinguished.  
  
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'Och, those mindless lads, where do they think they'll be getting in this?'  
  
Gimli idly scuffed a toe against a dripping stalagmite that reared its jagged head from the depths of the black ground. One born to the inner sanctums of the mountains and underground, he felt perfectly at home, even if a strange discomfiture continually crept up on him.  
  
'That Elf, I'll bet it was that Elf,' he growled in rather prejudiced conclusion. 'There is nought but a prancing pointy-ears who would be so stupid as to wander out here without thought - even if Boromir went with him.'  
  
Having woken to the steady and uncomforting drip of black water upon his brow, he had immediately noted the Elf's lack of presence, having acquired acuity of sense that alerted him when the Elf was nearby and where he was. So far, this newfound ability to discover and distinguish Legolas, even in a thick fog on a light-bereft night, had remained inanimate.  
  
And somewhere, in the deepest and unreachable recesses of the stalwart dwarf's mind - an unfamiliar feeling had risen. Gimli was worried.  
  
'Pah! Block-brained pointy-eared numbskull,' spat Gimli, though his stream of insults were empty. He knew it, but he could not possibly admit he was concerned for the welfare of the abhorrent, fair-featured and light- footed rival. He did not want to confess he was concerned about the auburn- haired, well-raised and selfish Boromir either.  
  
'Looking for someone?'  
  
Gimli jumped, and leapt around, brandishing his axe. 'Come any closer and your head will be parting company with your body,' he threatened, and then paused. Before him stood a comely entity, radiating an ethereal glow, glaring at him with limpid eyes of sapphire. Realization struck Gimli: he knew his confronter.  
  
'Legolas!' the dwarf cried, forgetting in his surprise to mask relief. 'You've had us all worrit, you idiot Elf!'  
  
Legolas merely cocked his head to one side, his eyes still narrowed and bestowing upon Gimli the disquieting, unremitting stare.  
  
'Legolas?' Gimli hastily took a step away. Within those eyes smouldered the embers of a perilous fire. It was apparent that Legolas' mood was far from pleased.  
  
The bow was raised. The arrow was notched. The eye sought its mark.  
  
'What are ye doing?' shouted Gimli in terror, stumbling backwards as fast as his dwarven form would allow. His foot caught against the dangerous edge of a roughly hewn boulder, and he fell with a heavy thud. Scrambling away, he held up an imploring hand. 'Wait, laddie!' he gasped dismally. 'What are - ?'  
  
His voice was cut abruptly short. The Elven finger had slipped from the string. With a piercing whistle the arrow leapt forth like a wild creature from its bonds.  
  
'Legolas!'  
  
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Merry glanced upwards, his eyes searching the cavernous mine shaft. 'That sounded like Gimli,' he murmured, idly placing a hand on Pippin's downy curls.  
  
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'Aragorn?' cried Frodo, leaping forward. 'Oh, thank Elbereth you are safe! You had us worried nigh to death! Sam and Gandalf and I came searching for you, but we were separated. We were assailed by a group of unknown creatures, and I managed to flee but - how glad I am to see you!'  
  
The Ranger inclined his head. 'Come with me Frodo,' he murmured, a barely tangible edge of coldness to his voice. 'I have seen the others, though it is not a pleasing sight.'  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
'Frodo - our companions have abandoned sanity.'  
  
The Ringbearer looked up through grieved eyes. 'And - ?' he whispered expectantly, both dreading and longing for the answer.  
  
'They are beginning to turn upon one another. Frodo, I fear many of our number already lie dead.'  
  
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'Boromir?' murmured Pippin incredulously, as the figure of the Man, bathed in a faint unnatural iridescence, which appeared to emanate from his very being, emerged from the shadows. Merry slept on, worn from their fruitless venturing.  
  
The Steward's Son smiled grimly, his acerbic countenance unable to be descried. His sword flashed in his hand, once. A choked cry escaped Pippin's throat, abruptly silenced.  
  
Kneeling, Boromir gazed intently at Merry's peaceful face. 'May your slumber be blessed,' he muttered darkly, and with a sweep of his cloak vanished.  
  
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'Alas! Frodo is in the company of the other!' hissed Gandalf, binding his profusely bleeding wound with material torn from his cloak. Having been unexpectedly set upon outside the entrance of the guardroom, he had been violently thrust aside and had fallen a fair distance, tumbling down the rock-strewn slope that climbed upwards to reach the bridge they had traversed earlier - before all of this had come to pass. He was bereft of his staff and the hobbits, thus without companion and the empowerment of the Istari stave.  
  
Having staunched his injury, he hastened away. Those of the broken Fellowship were in dire peril.  
  
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What are these phantoms of which Legolas spoke? Who is dead, who is friend, who is foe? As I said, don't hold your breath for the next instalment of Dementia. I would also like to take this time to apologise to those authors who already have stories with such a title; I was oblivious to that fact until I decided to search for it. Humblest apologies *bows low* Please don't sue me. 


	7. All the Better to See You With

Author's note: Hello hello! I'm moving as fast as I can to update, but it is growing exceedingly difficult given the fact that it is nearly the end of term, and the teacher's seem to have only recently noticed and are loading us up with assignments and such. It's pandemonium! Thank you to my reviewers (wow, I have about three!!!). It is good to know that this piece is appreciated by some, albeit a few ^_^.  
  
Yes yes, I know I am being absolutely awful to Legolas, but is it for a reason which will be known come the end. And guess what? Things are going to get worse for the Elf prince and his Gondorian companion. I won't reveal anything, it just seems to be a good idea to whet a reader's appetite before they actually read.  
  
Cheers! Thorn Dew'Pearled  
  
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Lying upon the uncomfortable ground they rested as they could, only as they could. Worry gnawed ever at them, fear for their companions, fear for what would become of them and their brave quest to destroy the most prominent and perilous evil in existence. Although it seemed that had never been meant, for what had at first appeared a near harmless voyage into the unknown had ended in disaster unable to be repaired.  
  
And had it not been for his wanton pursuits, we may not be in such a hopeless situation.  
  
Boromir lay awake, cursing his ill fate, cursing the ailing Elf who lay, drifting aimlessly within the waking world and without, at his side.  
  
Had it not been for Gandalf and his utter lack of direction, we may have found another way. Had it not been for Aragorn, we would never have needed to endure this. And had - had Frodo merely bequeathed the Ring to me, this would not have been a necessity!  
  
Hate seethed in the Son of Denethor, as his inherent pride was precipitated against his sensibility, as his mind argued he was undeserving whilst his heart debated there was none to blame. He could not rightfully put anyone at fault - but Boromir did not care. Innately arrogant, it was an impossibility to ever place himself within the seat of judgement. When careful plans went awry, to him there was always someone to blame; someone who had caused, whether intentional or not, those plans to go astray.  
  
Yet it was never he who had committed the crime, done the wrong.  
  
Hate turned to resent. Was he truly such an ignorant beast? Did he really condemn others less deserving of misery for the sake of his own reputation and comfort? Discomfiture wholly consumed anger.  
  
'You grieve. Why?'  
  
Legolas had awoken, roused by the battle the troubled Man waged inwardly. Boromir deliberately faced away from the Elf, curled upon his side. 'Go back to sleep,' he muttered. 'I am not grieved. You are misled. Go back to sleep.'  
  
The Elf did not do as he was bid; instead he laughed softly. 'Oh Boromir,' he admonished gently, smiling. 'I do recall another speaking those words to one who hearkened but did not heed - so now I say, I hearken, but I will not heed. What grieves you?'  
  
The Elf's voice was soft, soothing. Boromir wished then and there to pour out his heart to the prince; for his were ears that promised to listen, and his was a voice that promised respond kindly to Boromir's sorrowed words. But the proud and arrogant man of Gondor could not. He did not wish to demean himself anymore in the eyes of the Elven Prince, having already done so on numerous occasions. Surely Legolas had by now discerned his weaknesses, a humiliation which burned like a roaring conflagration within the Man.  
  
'Go back to sleep,' Boromir repeated again, wishing desperately that Legolas would relent and do as he was told. Legolas appeared to understand, murmuring a 'Rest well, then, my friend,' and shifting in an attempt to ease his cramped and aching limbs. Indeed, pain was no stranger.  
  
Yet the silence between them had stretched suddenly in to a vast expanse, measuring miles unable to be guessed. Awkwardness increased the distance, seperating Elf from Man, slowly drawing what little understanding they had possessed away from their grasp.  
  
Gradually but eventually, Legolas and Boromir began to lose once another into a gaping void; for the selfishness of mind each still had, and the ideals of their kin to which they strongly adhered, blinded them to what truly lay there.  
  
And in their current state of misfortune, theirs was an invisible foe, which would prove deadly to one before long.  
  
Hatred is a powerful enemy; Away it must be ward. An ignorant man may try to strike, But the blind cannot wield a sword.  
  
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He had disappeared. With the lithe form and silent feet of his kind, he had vanished without a trace. Gimli groped at his chest, feeling for the shaft he was certain protruded from his heart, aware of an acute sense of numbness that was stealing over his body.  
  
His fumbling hand met with no arrow - remarkably, there was not even a wound! Truth be told, the dwarf had not even felt the Elven dart strike its mark. Had he dreamt it then? He had found himself lying on the ground; perhaps he had stumbled and cracked his thick skull against a rock?  
  
Had the Elf merely been a phantom conjured by his aching mind, a ghost born of his inner conscience? If a conscience he indeed possessed, for all feeling seemed to eventually become clear to others.  
  
Using the stalagmite to lever himself to his feet, he set off again, his axe resting over his shoulder, mumbling and grumbling as was his wont.  
  
Although, where he had been certain Legolas had stood and attempted to kill him, there seemed to burgeon a strange feeling, like chillness radiated by an inferno of ice. He knew, as the feeling in his limbs began to sleep, that the coldness of the air was the imprint of the malevolent Elf.  
  
Gimli had not dreamt it. Legolas had been there after all.  
  
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'Merry! Merry, wake up!'  
  
Pippin shook his cousin roughly, pleading him to open his eyes, which Merry did, if rather reluctantly. 'Pip?' he mumbled sleepily, pushing the frantic Took away. 'What's gotten into you?'  
  
'Boromir tried to kill me,' Pippin whispered, his fists clenched at his cheeks, his eyes wide, gaping like his mouth.  
  
'Boromir? What? Don't be ridiculous,' Merry scoffed, laughing. 'I think your dreams are a little fevered, dear cousin. Are you catching a chill?'  
  
Concernedly he placed a hand against Pippin's brow, but the younger hobbit pushed it away indignantly. 'I saw what I saw,' he insisted obstinately, frowning darkly. 'Boromir came out of the dark, and I called to him, but he didn't answer. Then he lifted his sword, and brought it down - and everything went black ... then I woke up again,' he ended lamely, and blushed scarlet with what his cousin suspected was shame.  
  
'See? It is as I suspected. You dreamt it all, silly,' said Merry, in an attempt at assurance. Although somewhere deep within he was afraid - Pippin was never one to make up untruths about serious matters. 'Anyway, if Boromir had had a mind to kill you, don't you think you would be dead?'  
  
'He missed,' said Pippin sulkily. 'I'm certain I saw him! He was standing right there!'  
  
He pointed, and gasped. Merry felt as if his blood had frozen in his veins.  
  
For where Pippin directed his gaze, upon the treacherous ground, lay the evidence to the fervent Took's claims.  
  
A boot print.  
  
Identical to that of Boromir.  
  
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'What foul fortune! Frodo? Mr. Frodo? Oh, where's he gotten himself to now?'  
  
Panicked, Sam was diligently searching high and low, seeking his missing master. So intent was he on finding the Ringbearer, he paid no heed to where he set his feet, and as consequence slipped, tumbling a short way and coming to a breathless halt.  
  
Gandalf had forsaken him. Frodo had forsaken him. Legolas and Boromir and Gimli were gone, along with the Took and the Brandybuck, of whom Sam was not entirely fond, but did care for.  
  
Climbing with difficulty to his sore and weary feet, he continued. Shadows skulked within shadows, darkness claimed darkness, crevices locked and ravines gaped. All was the same in this unpleasant underworld.  
  
'It's not fair,' stated Sam sombrely to himself, the epitome of misery. 'Why'd it have to go and become like this? Why'd Strider have to go and get himself lost? Why'd Legolas and Boromir have to go after him? Things would never have turned this grim if we'd just stayed together, as a good fellowship ought.'  
  
Sighing, he sat down to rest, his head supported heavily in his hands. '"It's a cruel world out there, Samwise; so don't go a-dabbling your toes in it," like my gaffer used to say,' he muttered to himself. 'And his words ring true. I don't think it could get much crueller then this! Though mayhap I shouldn't say that - evil things are wont to worsen when unwary people go and proclaim they couldn't. Well, there's nothing for it, Sam Gamgee, but to go on again. You're not going to find your master sitting hopelessly in the dark.'  
  
And so the heavyhearted hobbit gardener heaved himself to his feet, and set off once more, oblivious to the reflective eyes that watched him from a distance. With a throaty mumble that sounded much like a gollum the hidden watcher skulked away.  
  
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Gandalf stared bleakly upon the crossroad. His chosen path diverged now with many and sprang away in dark branches, slender and treacherous. The rough roads were bordered with many a decrepit Dwarven structure, more often than not a hewn slab of stone into which was carved their runes; and also writing Elvish of origin, but rendered into the Dwarvish mode.  
  
Some he stopped to peer at, others he passed swiftly by without further thought. His heart was gripped in the icy clutches of fear, for he knew of Frodo's plight, to which the hobbit himself was oblivious. How could the Halfling entrust himself into the care of one he knew was corrupt, regardless of the creature's words?  
  
He is fearful, Gandalf answered his own query and sighed wearily. Light fell in cold white shafts, like Elven knives, through faults in the dark and high-vaulted ceiling. Glancing upwards, one could not clearly discern whether their eyes gazed upon the end of the vast mines, or into the sable depths of a moonless sky. Whether Isil or Anor reigned in the outside world none could tell.  
  
Gandalf made for Dwarrowdelf, and understood his way would be difficult for his intended path no longer lay before him. And, gravely, he knew that it was not necessary that the roads of the others would lead them to assured safety. It was liable that their deaths had been met long ago.  
  
The elderly man wished only to sink to his knees and weep but he strove bravely onwards, telling himself that it was only the life of the Ringbearer that mattered, and the others had come through selection by Elrond to protect that life. If they lay cold and without breath somewhere in the inestimable stretch of mined stone, Gandalf need not worry for their sake.  
  
Frodo was the utmost priority, and the wizard needed desperately to find and succour him from the dangers into which he walked oblivious.  
  
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'Aragorn, I am weary and cold. May we have a brief rest, please?'  
  
'Nay Frodo. We must press onwards. Time is no longer upon our side - we must make our own way. We can depend on no one, and no one can depend on us. Understand?'  
  
'Yes,' mumbled the Halfling tiredly, and he yawned and stumbled. Aragorn caught him by the collar and shook him. 'Be careful!' he hissed roughly and thrust the hobbit away. Frodo staggered but balanced himself and stared upon the rugged face of the Ranger.  
  
'Aragorn - ?' he asked, suddenly fearful. Memories came flooding back; he recalled that Aragorn was not the sole occupant of his body.  
  
The heir of Isildur sneered unpleasantly and stabbed a finger ahead. 'Hasten,' he commanded churlishly. 'Long ways to go yet. Hurry.'  
  
'N-no,' stammered Frodo, backing away in unease, clutching at the Ring upon its golden chain. 'You are not yourself - avaunt, you creature!'  
  
Aragorn snarled and lunged for him. 'You will come with me you pathetic little man!' he screeched. 'Give me the Ring! Give it to me, or feel the bite of steel!'  
  
Frodo cried in terror, but he fell heavily over a stone and scrambled backwards. The Ranger advanced, the glint of madness visible in the depths of his melancholy grey eye. Suddenly Aragorn halted, gazing blankly into the distance, and held a hand to his face, his shoulders trembling vehemently.  
  
'I am sorry Frodo,' he whispered with an effort, and the hobbit knew this to be the true Strider. 'I try - truthfully I do - give me the Ring! ... No! Run, Frodo! Run!'  
  
Terrified, Frodo did as bade and ran, as Aragorn fought an internal battle and collapsed upon the stone, twitching madly. Frodo stopped, and turned for him, but the Ranger was upon his knees and screamed, 'Run Frodo! Worry not for me: I do not matter. Run, Ringbearer! The wolf is hunting! Away with you!'  
  
Weeping, Frodo ran from him. In agony, Aragorn curled upon the stone and hugged his knees. 'You weak, pathetic, pitiful insect!' Shenlar shrieked at him, and one hand was lifted to fall in a stinging blow upon the broken man's dirt-streaked face.  
  
Helpless, bereft of all, the Ranger's tears fell in silence.  
  
What has happened to me? I have become a wild beast!  
  
_________________________________  
  
Legolas' breathing had grown shallow, and rattled disquietingly in his chest. Boromir panicked, not knowing aught he could do. Covering the trembling frame of the ailing Elf with his cloak, he chaffed Legolas' hands fervidly in effort to warm him. 'Elves are supposed to be immune to ailments,' he muttered worriedly. 'Illness is a mortal trait - what then is this?'  
  
A golden tendril of hair he brushed carefully from Legolas' brow, and thought suddenly how lordly and beautiful he looked. He knew the ethereal quality of the prince was born of his heritage, but he could not help but feel belittled and sore. And something else was pulling at his heartstrings unremittingly. Blatantly the Gondorian ignored it.  
  
'Boromir?' Legolas whispered weakly, stirring and reaching out a hand. 'Boromir - it is dark, I cannot see. Is night come?'  
  
Boromir froze in sudden horror. There was light enough for his eyes to descry what lay at least two feet before and behind him. He hoisted the limp elf from the ground and held him at arms length. Legolas' head fell onto his shoulder, and he blinked wearily. And what Boromir saw there frightened him terribly.  
  
'Is night come?' he repeated, and his fair features crossed suddenly with terror as realisation dawned upon him. 'By Elbereth! I am blind!'  
  
He held his hands to his face and waved his hands before his eyes, white as ivory marbles and nearly featureless save for rings of pale grey. There was none of the erstwhile and beautiful blue he had possessed, no acuity of sight for he had none.  
  
The Elf collapsed into Boromir's arms and began to weep noisily, one fist to his mouth as he tried to stem his grief, but to no avail.  
  
In utter misery, Boromir embraced his companion tightly and cried with him, and each one's tears pattering mournfully upon his companion's shoulder.  
  
'What is this devilry?' Legolas sobbed frantically, clutching the material of Boromir's tunic in his horror and sorrow. 'Why is this so?'  
  
'I do not know,' Boromir replied, choked. 'I do not know, my friend - you are running a fever Legolas,' he added rather irrelevantly, and frowned.  
  
Truthfully, what devilry is at work here?  
  
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Skulking in the shadows, Aragorn found his lips were burning. Passing a tentative hand across them, he felt the heat upon his fingertips, and wondered at it.  
  
Shenlar laughed wickedly. 'I fear your Elven friend no longer possesses his inherent keenness of eye,' he said mysteriously.  
  
Aragorn stared. 'What do you mean?' he began in confusion, and then his mind answered his own question. 'Oh Valar ... I - you have blinded him! You - unspeakable wretch!' 'Hush,' Shenlar ordered, glaring. 'You are nearly gone, so perhaps it would be wiser not to challenge or insult me. Now move!'  
  
_________________________________  
  
So now there are two creatures on the loose - Aragorn's invader Shenlar, and the erstwhile master of the Ring, Gollum. And now that Frodo is companionless and Sam has the Ring's former master behind him, what will become of the sundered Fellowship. What are these phantoms in truth? Will Boromir learn to deal with his companion's disability, and can Legolas come to terms with it? Hmm - I'll try to get that information to you A.S.A.P ^_^. Thank you! 


End file.
